Calamity
by Naiades
Summary: Hermione saw something she shouldn't have that night. And that something has suddenly and inexplicably turned her world upside down. DMxHG
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For the purposes of this fic, Draco Malfoy is a Prefect in his sixth year. Other than that this is HBP compliant.**

Why did she have to go down that corridor? _Why?_

Hermione Granger groaned inwardly as she twisted restlessly in her four poster bed. Pushing the sweat soaked sheets off her slim form; she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the images that flashed unbidden across her retina.

_Why, indeed._

It had all started innocently enough. She had been on patrol that evening – a duty which, as prefect, she took very seriously. So seriously in fact, that she had gone above and beyond the call of duty.

It had been a quiet night. Other than a couple of reckless second year Gryffindors running amok in the 4th level corridor, there had been little or no activity.

Hermione had just started her trek back to the Gryffindor Common room when she had heard a suspicious noise not far ahead. Despite having already finished her patrol for the evening, the slender sixth year student had felt compelled to take a look.

How she wished she hadn't.

As she trotted down the darkened corridor, listening for the rustling of fabric which had initially caught her attention, she heard a muffled giggle not far ahead. _Ahah!_ She had thought, _more delinquents loitering around the halls this evening._ And so she had followed her curiosity, had given into her inherent righteousness.

She had been walking quietly so as not to give the culprit and his accomplices time to disband, when another noise had issued from the silence. A moan, this time.

Hermione blushed to recall.

It had come from just ahead and to the left. As her eyes adjusted to the overwhelming darkness she had noticed the little alcove in the wall.

'Ungh.' It was a male voice this time.

Suspicion seeped through her veins as she heard the sound. This was quickly followed by horror as she peered into the alcove and realised what she was hearing.

Malfoy. It was Draco Malfoy leaning against the solid stone wall, his pale face contorted, his hands gripping the hair of a girl before him. On her _knees_ before him.

_Oh, Merlin_.

She had stood and watched for a few more minutes, until the realisation of what she had witnessed began to sink in and, ignoring her responsibility to report them, she fled the scene as quickly as her feet could carry her.

Which had led her here, to her bed, twisting and turning as she had been for the last four hours and willing her brain to stop reliving the humiliating moment.

Each time she had closed her eyes, begging sleep to take her, she had been bombarded with images of the pale-skinned Slytherin.

He had still been wearing his uniform; the tie was loosely unknotted, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the white and contoured marble of his chest. His eyes had been closed, his lips parted on a breath of agony so urgent it had made her tremble to watch.

All of these images haunted her, but not so much as the other part of him. The part she had never seen before. She groaned again. And the things that girl had been _doing_ to him!

Feeling flushed and heated again, Hermione tried to dispel the fluttering sensation deep within her.

Merlin knew she would _never_ look at Malfoy the same way again.

* * *

As Hermione hurried to the Prefect meeting, she reflected – rather dismally – on the week passed. She had taken to spending ridiculous amounts of time staring at one Draco Malfoy who, much to her dismay, had caught her looking on more than a couple of occasions.

The humiliation was utterly unbearable.

She hadn't really seen his reactions because she had looked away so quickly her head had spun. And now, she acknowledged, she would have to face him again. Only this time it would be from across the table rather than the Hall.

Flustered in a way that she never had been before this week, Hermione bustled into the room which was, thankfully, almost half filled.

The slender brunette took her seat next to one of the fifth year Ravenclaw prefects and smoothed out the innocuous wrinkles from her skirt. Once the meeting had started, she found it hard to concentrate on the voices of her Head Boy and Girl. They sounded garbled and distorted to her distracted ears.

After combating her own thoughts she glanced across the table at their favourite subject, only to realise that he had been staring at her. Her dark eyes widened slightly as she cowered under the intensity of his gaze.

His usually clear ashy eyes were darkened and cloudy and deeply disturbing. She glanced down to avoid the curious expression they held, and when she felt brave enough to return the gaze she realised that he was no longer looking at her, but had tuned back into the discussion. As she should have done.

_Perhaps_, she thought, _my imagination is playing games with me._ Her teeth worried her slightly pouted lower lip as she contemplated her possible insanity.

Before she had even realised it, people were filing out of the room gabbling away about goodness knows what. Sighing wearily at her uncharacteristic distraction, she collected her things and wandered out of the room.

Hermione closed the door gingerly behind her and was taken aback to see Malfoy leaning against the opposing wall. The image did not help the train of her thoughts.

'You scared me,' she mumbled, more to herself than anything.

His odd expression hadn't changed and he continued to look at her for (what she thought) was an inappropriately long amount of time without blinking.

'Did you want something, Malfoy?' One corner of his mouth raised itself into a hint of wry smirk, as though he found something amusing and didn't feel like sharing the joke.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation and turned to leave when his softly spoken words stopped her heart.

'I saw you, you know. That night in the corridor.'

She whipped around to stare at him in open-mouthed shock. 'Wh-what?'

He pushed off from the cold stone of the wall and wandered leisurely toward her. It was only when he was standing less than half a metre away from her that she realised how much taller he was than her. If he came any closer she would have to tilt her head just to see his face.

'I _saw_ you.' He whispered the words with a quiet sort of triumph and nodded in the strangely intense manner that he seemed to have taken on in the last year.

She didn't say anything. Truth be told she was rather flabbergasted at that moment. And it was _so_ unlike Hermione Granger to have words fail her.

'Erm,' was the best she could come up with, and even then it came out in a rather high-pitched squeak that made him smirk in a way she hadn't seen in so long.

He had moved closer when she wasn't looking, and she was now uncomfortably aware of the _lack_ of distance between them. 'It's rude to spy on people Granger,' He whispered again, in his low and husky tones, 'didn't you know that?'

_Oh Merlin_. He was tormenting her, the bastard.

Despite the treacherously erratic beat of her heart, she managed to narrow her eyes into slits as she glared at him.

'_You_ _were out of bed_,' she hissed. 'As a Prefect, I imagine you know the consequences if I reported you.' She raised her chin defiantly.

'Are you threatening me, Granger?' He asked the question coolly, too coolly for her comfort. 'Do you know what your problem is?' He said softly, she could hear the smirk in his voice even though it did not grace his features.

'Enlighten me,' she retorted, more than a little relieved to have commandeered her vocal cords once again.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, so uncomfortably close to her that she could not help but to flush slightly at the memory of him. He was so very different now at 16 than he had been in his childhood. Certainly the arrogance was still there, it lingered in the expressions of his aristocratic visage.

His blond hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes in such a vulnerable way that she was almost tempted to brush it back. But she wouldn't, of course. His eyes had an almost tortured quality to them now. They were haunted, she realised, and something echoed deep within her.

'You're a paramour of virtuous goodness. But I don't buy it.' He looked her over rather mockingly and she wrinkled her nose the way she did when she was angry and confused.

She reached to slap him, as she had once before. It was a purely instinctive reaction – she hadn't liked his tone. What Hermione hadn't counted on was his quick reflexes. _Quidditch_, she thought scathingly. It really was the bane of her life.

His eyes narrowed at hers as he held her wrist over head. 'I didn't like it the first time you did that. Do you really thing I'll let you away with it again?'

For the first time in as long as she had known Draco Malfoy, fear licked at her smooth skin. He was infinitely larger, obviously stronger, and perhaps a lot more angry than she had ever seen him before.

He must have seen it in her eyes too, for he lowered his head so that he was almost on par with her height and pressed his face so close to hers that their noses brushed.

She stopped breathing altogether.

Holding his gaze she could see again that strange expression in his eyes and she knew immediately that he had not intended to touch her.

As though realising it at the same moment, Malfoy jumped back as though he had been burned, shook his head and stalked off down the corridor.

Utterly bewildered, Hermione pressed her weary form against the stone wall behind her and tried not to think about the recent upheaval in her life. Even more desperately she tried not to think of Draco Malfoy and the way his cool fingers had burned a trail across her skin.


	2. Chapter 2

Stupid bitch, he silently cursed, his naked fist colliding with cold stone

_Stupid bitch,_ he silently cursed, his naked fist colliding with cold stone. He did not feel the pain coursing through his arm as he normally would have, or the shredding of translucent skin now stained red. His mind had been otherwise detained.

Glancing down at the torn ribbons of skin grazing his knuckles, he cursed again before heading to the hospital wing.

His foul mood now utterly irreversible.

* * *

Some two hours later, and with all signs of his earlier bout of aggression masked, Draco Malfoy found himself sitting at the Slytherin table picking at a meal that could no sooner hold his attention than it could sate Crabbe's incurable hunger. He fought the urge to rake agitated fingers through the length of his hair. He could not do things like that in public, could not shake the foundations of his reputation amongst the simpletons of his school.

Pushing aside his plate he glanced instead down the line of the Ravenclaw table, seeking the flaxen haired beauty who had so successfully kept his mind off _other_ business of late. She was glancing at him; of course she was. Draco quirked his lips in a small smile-cum-smirk, the best he could come up with these days, and certainly enough for her.

The girl, one Aletia Mossgrove, flushed prettily and his smirk widened. As he leaned forward he felt a prickling sensation one could only associate with the heavy gaze of someone who should not be watching. He recognised the feeling, for this particular culprit had been at it for a fortnight now.

Steadily, Draco raised his gaze to hold that of Hermione Granger, infuriating lover of elves and morons the world over, who was at that moment cocking her head in the fashion of one struggling to solve a deeply perplexing puzzle.

Truth be told he was rather surprised when she didn't move her gaze as quickly as she normally would have. Quirking a brow, he suppressed amusement upon realising that she was trying to 'figure him out', as though he were a particularly vexing seventh year arithmancy problem.

He watched as her gaze became unfocused, even from this distance it was clear from the sudden loss of intensity in her expression. She flushed, and swallowed hard.

And a grin slowly unfurled across his features as he considered just what she was thinking about as she ducked her head and averted her gaze. She was terribly easy to read.

He could not help but wonder what her tragic little friends might think were they aware of her recent penchant for voyeurism. Imagining the weasel's face contorting in total and utter confusion as he stumbled over the word, Draco was almost tempted to strike up the conversation himself.

Instead he eased his lean form from the bench and, flicking an errant speck of lint from his robes, strolled out of the Great Hall. Resting against the opposing wall, Draco knew he would not have to wait long. And indeed he was right.

A mere five minutes later, the delightful Miss Mossgrove had extracted herself from the vice grip of her impervious classmates in favour of him.

She fidgeted in apparent shyness under his heavy gaze, and he curbed the desire to snort derisively at this. Frankly he thought they were rather beyond shyness at this point.

Draco watched her impassively, making no move to raise himself from his reclining position against the stone wall. He enjoyed this moment, when a girl was forced to go after what she wanted: him. They didn't do it nearly often enough he thought. That and he rather enjoyed the look of discomfiture upon her face.

It was his inner sadist no doubt.

She moved closer, and pressed her small hand against his chest and held his gaze firmly, now this was _much_ more like accommodating young women he had recently acquainted himself with.

'Aletia.'

'Draco,' she all but purred. Deciding it was time to take matters into his own hands; he cupped said hands around the curve of her hips, thumbs rubbing gently across her hip bone.

He hauled her closer.

Her mouth was mobile; her taste lingered on his tongue. Draco lowered a palm to cup her through the fabric of her skirt, noting the funny little sound she made. Oh but she made it so _easy_. Too easy, actually.

The creak of the doors opening sounded, as he removed her hands and set her away from him. She gazed up with idiotically dazed eyes and he rolled his own in response. Glancing over her shoulder he noted that the first few people to trickle out were of course Potter and his little band of no-hopers – no doubt having cowered under Granger's strictures to do their homework early and go straight to bed.

She was there too of course, trying not to look too surprised as she recognised his companion from behind. He pushed passed the Ravenclaw girl, having decided that his new prey were infinitely more entertaining.

'Ah, if it isn't Potter and his merry men.' He looked at Granger pointedly and smirked. The abnormally long-limbed Weasley, typically jumped to her defence, but was quelled by a rather pointed look from her, before she turned the same glare upon him.

'Granger.'

Not looking away from him she directed her next command to her friends. 'Just give me a minute, I'll follow on.'

Raising a brow, he watched as her bespectacled comrade all but imploded. 'Hermione, you've got to be bloody joking?!' This was emphasised by a series of rather Neanderthal-esque grunting sounds issued from Weasley. She turned to glower at him in a rather hard manner which seemed to have the desired effect, so that the two boys trudged down the hall at rather a slower pace than he imagined she had intended.

'To what do I owe this… _dubious_ honour?'

'You are _unbelievable_!' The fierce look upon her face bewildered him momentarily. 'Why do you try so hard to rile him up? What did he ever do to you?!'

He raised a brow, 'Granger, I can't imagine what has brought on this rush of indignation, but when have I ever given a shit about you or your friends? Besides which, all I said was hello.'

He spoke with such a cool disdain that she faltered for a second before responding.

'You know what I mean. I -'

'You what? You think because you caught me in the throes that suddenly you're entitled to comment on my actions? Who the fuck do you think you are?

Her eyes widened at his frankness, and she didn't appear to have a suitable response.

The laughter that escaped his lips rang of utter amusement and exhilaration. 'You _enjoyed _it. You liked what you saw, didn't you Granger?' His gaze intensified and the smile fell from his features as he watched her intently, his face leaning ever closer to hers.

'I – I didn't.' She whispered in shock and no small amount of humiliation.

His voice was velvet and deceiving, 'you think about it, don't you, at night in your prim pyjamas?' he laughed softly, dangerously. 'I know you do, Granger, thinking what it might be like…' His lips brushed the delicate skin of her earlobe, catching the disturbing, and distracting scent of her perfume.

He pulled away.

'Run along to your friends, Granger… lest they think something they shouldn't.'

He glanced back at her expression, the wide eyes and parted lips made him think of something else and he laughed as he turned on his heel.

One thing was certain, the usually intolerable Hermione Granger, had suddenly raised the prospect of entertainment this week unequivocally.


	3. Chapter 3

He was merciless and she hated him

He was merciless and she hated him. She _hated_ him.

As though to reiterate this point the slender brunette glared rather malevolently ahead of her, much to the collective horror of three knobbly-kneed first years who had misfortune of standing in the path of her gaze.

Hermione felt her anger give way to mortification and as the telltale redness swept across her cheeks; she sank lower into the bulky protection of her over-stuffed chair. She had been sitting in the Gryffindor common room for two hours at least, attempting to cut a swathe through the ghastly amount of sixth year homework she had to complete.

NEWTs were coming up in a year and she was damn well going to pass with flying colours. However, knowing this and applying such dedication were two separate issues – particularly when one's thoughts flashed back (with disturbing prolificacy) to recent encounters with the scourge of all human existence: Draco Malfoy.

It was unfortunate, she reflected, that the blight happened to be irritatingly attractive and self-assured. Although she supposed, to be attractive probably _meant_ to be self-assured. She did not know the answer one way or another; as far as she was concerned, she was neither, in large parts.

She brushed back some of the unruly curls which bounced so frequently across her lash line, and glanced back down at her book. It was a tome on the topic of advanced potion making, which she had borrowed out with the intention of increasing her knowledge on the subject. She would _not_ stand for another instance of Harry being proclaimed genius for having done little more than cheat.

She realised quite quickly, however, that this was not the book to help her. She would instead need to visit the library again to find something more advanced. Glancing at the old clock above the hearth she realised it was almost time for dinner, and so decided she would head to the library shortly thereafter.

Some 15 minutes later, she was seated in her usual position on the Gryffindor table, surreptitiously scanning the room for Malfoy's signature platinum hair. She dropped her gaze quickly, however, upon receiving a slightly narrow eyed look from Ginny who looked distinctly suspicious of something.

Hermione allowed herself to fall into the table's discussion, only tuning out whenever she heard the doors creak open. He did not come though, and she thought it strange that he should avoid dinner. She thought it strange that she cared.

Having finally brushed off her friends with her announcement of needing to borrow some books, she walked purposefully toward her destination.

The hallways were quiet at this time of night. Students were returning to their common-rooms in other parts of the castle, and as such, she was quite alone in heading to the library. She never failed to be dismayed at the utter lack of application to studies amongst her peers.

Upon entering the library, she realised that it too was mostly empty. She paused for a moment to take in the comforting surroundings. The gas-lit lamps, which hung from the ceilings, provided enough light in the central area for reading and writing whilst creating small pockets of darkness around the vast room's outer shelves.

The dark-haired girl moved her slender frame through the empty desks, pausing momentarily as something on one of the few used benches caught her eye. The dark inkpot, which rested amongst a series of books and pieces of parchment, carried an insignia she recognised. It was an emblematic M etched into the black pot - she had seen the symbol in a tome on the history of Pureblood tyranny she had read over her holidays.

Hermione knew in that moment that she ought to keep on walking; knew that pausing to loiter near Draco Malfoy's paperwork was asking for trouble. Unfortunately, she also knew, from experience, that her curiosity _always_ got the better of her.

Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she scanned the general area for signs of him, or indeed anyone who might have been watching. There was no one.

She moved quickly then, lifting pieces of parchment and peering at his elegant cursive. It was all in Latin, she noted with frustration, mainly because she could not read nor speak the language except when reciting spells.

Clearly, the blond Slytherin could, however, and the thought of what he might be writing that required such privacy burned her with intrigue.

But she had loitered too long, and choosing to make haste in the direction of her potions book rather than be caught; she set off towards the back of the library.

As she passed Madam Pince's study desk she received a terse nod from the woman; it was a mark of the woman's affection for Hermione that she even acknowledged her. Or perhaps it was merely affection for _Hermione's affection_ for books.

Regardless she smiled back politely and continued through the dimly lit aisles. The lamps that hung from the ceiling were far more spaced out in this section of the library than in the general area. As a result, the lightening left much to be desired. Hermione did not mind though - she would always use wand light in instances where she had difficulty reading the book spines.

Upon reaching her destination, the tenacious young woman began to peruse the shelves with a single-minded intensity. Her focus was entirely on the task at hand.

And it was for this reason that she did not hear his approach until it was too late.

A mere second before she felt his presence her skin prickled with the knowledge of his closeness, before her mind could even register it. A strong hand pushed her against the shelf she had been scrutinising. She made to reach for her wand but felt her hands being wrenched upwards and held against the shelving unit. Another hand rose to grip her neck, pressing her face sideways against the leather spines of the books. It was a highly threatening gesture.

She made to scream, but no sound could escape and she knew instantly that her assailant had performed the silencing charm on her.

But it was the knowledge of whom he was that scared her the most. Even before he said a word, when his lean formed grazed against hers from behind, she knew his identity.

'Didn't anybody ever teach you to mind your own fucking business, Granger?' The silky voice nipped at her insides, causing her to feel no small amount of panic at his closeness.

She scrunched her eyes shut momentarily when she felt his thumb brushing circles over the nape of her neck; trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Despite the intoxicating scent of him, and the tingling sensation induced by his fingers, she was still well aware of the extent of her predicament.

'You aren't nearly as scared of me as you should be, Granger. I wonder why that is.' To reiterate his point, he stopped his gentle stroking and pushed her head more firmly against the shelving. She was shaking now, and he could feel it.

A laugh as soft as an outward breath tickled her ear.

'But there are other things to fear than merely how I could hurt you. There are other things to fear…' She felt the warm expulsion of his breath against her neck. It caused her to squirm and him to laugh in response.

His thumb resumed its act of tracing circles upon her skin, but it was the gentle pressure of lips behind her ear that made her start.

He would not, she thought. He would.

The hand encasing her wrists remained were it was whilst the other lowered from her neck to trace down the side of her body. It moved with such gentle pressure that under normal circumstances she might not have felt it. But she did now. She was wholly aware of every move he made.

The hand gripped her hipbone tightly for a moment before tracing down the side of her leg, causing her increased agitation. She was completely still as his hand moved passed the length of her skirt to graze her bare skin. She did not want him to think that she was remotely affected by his actions.

But she was nonetheless startled by his next move. His hand bunch a small amount of the fabric of her skirt and pressed it against her leg, slowly inching it higher.

Her heart was beating a thousand miles an hour and she was so absorbed by each fractional movement of his hand that she quite forgot to struggle. Had it not been for the silencing charm upon her he would have heard her ragged attempts to draw breath as well as the startled yelp, which issued from her mouth when his smooth hand brushed the tender skin of her inner thigh.

No! She thought, as her skin prickled with anticipation. He would not really touch her _there_ would he? No one ever had.

But he did.

She gasped silently as his large hand cupped her through the fabric of her too sensible underwear. She knew he could feel her trembling against him, and whilst most of her hated him for instigating such a horrifically mortifying moment; she also knew that a small part of her did not want him to move away. And she hated herself above all else for that.

He pressed crudely against her and she stopped breathing altogether.

'Granger,' he whispered the word as though it was a question, but she had no idea what he was asking.

And then he did something, Merlin, she was not sure what. But she felt heated and shaky all at once, and his hands that were touching her _there_, she did not want them to stop.

But they did, right when she was on the cusp of something almost attainable, he wrenched himself away from her and she thought for a moment that his breath was a heavy as her own.

His voice was dark and thick. 'If I catch you spying on me again, Granger, don't think you won't regret it.'

And he was gone, before she could think a single thought.

Shakily she pressed her aching palms against the bookshelf in attempt to support her weakened knees. Her jaw throbbed from pressure and her skin burned with shame. Heaving in a dizzying amount of oxygen, she craved clarity more than anything. But it eluded her.

Dragging a hand through the length of her unruly curls, she made a hasty exit, having quite forgotten why she had come to the library in the first place.

The walk to the Gryffindor common room left her edgy and confused, and feeling uncomfortably exposed. After whispering the password to the Fat Lady, she was startled to see Harry standing not a metre away - clearly waiting for her.

'Harry! You startled me.' She smiled weakly.

'What were you talking to Malfoy about?' His tone demanded an answer and she was utterly at a loss for words.

'What?' She whispered numbly.

He waved a worn piece of parchment in front of her eyes and to her dismay, she recognised it: the Marauder's Map. She was in for it now, she knew. He raised his brows expectantly.

She sighed, 'it was nothing. Just his usual nonsense. Really, Harry, he's not worth the effort - if he's up to something we'll find out soon enough.'

He looked indignant but chose not to pursue the issue and muttered a good night before heading toward the sixth year boy's dorm. Eager to hide in the shelter of her bed, she followed his lead.


End file.
